


audentis fortuna iuvat

by waving



Series: fortune favors the bold [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gender-neutral Reader, Humor, Multi, Post-DMC4, Reader-Insert, am i insinuating that you have slept with all three members of the sparda family?, pre-dmc5, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-23 18:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waving/pseuds/waving
Summary: A demon, a half-demon, and a quarter-demon walk into a bar.("Nero," you cooed, peppering kisses across the poor boy's forehead, "you're socute.Like a small, angry teddy bear." You lost all of the strength in your body and fell into his lap, giggling. Your jacket had long been abandoned on the floor, though your guns remained tucked in the waistband of your pants.Nero, face flushed, leaned backwards. "I can't deal with this," he said, glancing furtively across the table to where Dante was lounging comfortably in his seat. "Dante—""Don't look at me," said Dante, taking a sip of beer. "What makes you think I'm a good role model?")





	audentis fortuna iuvat

**Author's Note:**

> you have no idea how much i love my bois dante and nero

"Nero," you cooed, peppering kisses across the poor boy's forehead, "you're so _cute._ Like a small, angry teddy bear." You lost all of the strength in your body and fell into his lap, giggling. Your jacket had long been abandoned on the floor, though your guns remained tucked in the waistband of your pants.

Nero, face flushed, leaned backwards. "I can't deal with this," he said, glancing furtively across the table to where Dante was lounging comfortably in his seat. "Dante—"

"Don't look at me," said Dante, taking a sip of beer. "What makes you think I'm a good role model?"

"You're the adult here! Do something about—" Nero gestured helplessly at you. "About this!"

Dante shrugged and rested his arms on the back of his plush seat. The neon lights in the bar danced off his face, making his eyes glitter with amusement. His customary red duster was folded over his arm, and he'd propped up Rebellion against the table, hilt and pommel peaking over the tablecloth.

"You asked for this, kid," he called over the pounding bass. "Now deal with the consequences."

You interrupted Nero by draping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer, barely sparing Dante a glance. "You look so cute with your new haircut," you hummed, staring into Nero's pretty, pretty blue eyes. A blush crossed his pale skin, and you snickered, pressing your forehead against his. He felt cold. Or maybe you were hot. "You're adorable. I love you."

Despite his previous apprehension, Nero's arms settled comfortably around your waist, holding you so that you didn't slide onto the floor. Hesitantly, he began to stroke the back of your head, shocked when a purr rumbled in your chest. "Demons purr?" he mouthed over your head at Dante.

Dante shrugged, his gaze distant. _Who knows?_

Nero's attention was torn away when fat beads of tears rolled down your cheek. He yelped as they burned through the fabric of his jacket and landed on his collarbone, oozing down his skin like candle wax.

"You're too sweet,” you sobbed, clutching his jacket feverishly. “I know I’m mean to you all the time, but I actually love you very much and I just wish you’d see that.”

As you continued to cry, Nero’s brow furrowed, and he brushed your face with the back of his knuckles, watching the tears cling to your lashes as you blinked. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

He didn’t know a lot of things about you.

Your hand pounded against Nero’s shoulder, hurting more than he'd like to admit. A knot of syllables and harsh consonants slipped from your tongue, and he glanced at Dante helplessly, unable to decipher your ramblings besides a few rudimentary nouns.

Dante held up his hands. "Not your translator, kid."

Once you were finished, you fell back into Nero, letting your exhausted head fall on his shoulder. You crooned, burying your nose into the crook of his neck to inhale the smell of his shampoo, and wiggled so that you were pressed against his warm body, hip to hip. "You know, you look just like Dante when he was younger,” you murmured absentmindedly, playing with a strand of his cropped white hair.

This made Dante spit out his drink. He slammed his beer onto the table and thumped his chest, coughing. “We're not talking about this again."

You ignored him. "He used to wear this stupid belt across his chest," you said, then snorted. "He looked like a goddamn stripper."

Above your head, Nero cocked an eyebrow at Dante, though the faintest grin spread on his lips. He wasn't above a little blackmail to get what he wanted. "A stripper? Really?"

In the background, someone shrieked with joy. A disco ball descended from the ceiling in a plume of artificial smoke, washing Dante’s hair with a neon pink light. "I can't believe I'm being attacked like this," he said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock agony. "I was making a fashion statement!"

"Stripper," you repeated, unwrapping one arm from Nero's neck to point at him. "Pretty sure the only reason you won against Vergil was because he was constantly distracted by your damn tits."

"Pecs,” he corrected.

You sniffed and disattached yourself from Nero, who seemed caught between relief that you'd stopped clinging to him, and disappointment that... you'd stopped clinging to him. "Vergil was hotter," you said, and then fell over on the plush seat.

Dante's gasp was genuinely scandalized. As you acquainted your face with the faux leather seat, Nero glanced back and forth between the two of you, brow furrowed. "Vergil?"

"Excuse you," said Dante with a haughty sniff. "I happen to know for a _fact_ that I am the hotter twin."

"Twin?" asked Nero.

Your hand landed on Nero's shoulder, and he buckled as you pulled yourself up. "Vergil," you said, wracking your mind for the right way to describe the estranged Sparda twin, "was an asshole. But he was a  _gorgeous_ asshole."

Dante chortled. "Asshole," he muttered into the rim of his beer. "That's one way to put it."

"Dante, you can go shove your opinions up your ass," you said instinctively.

He shrugged it off. "Whatever you say."

You stared at him, then shook your head, dizzy. This wasn’t right.

You grabbed his face in your hands and wrenched him towards you, forcing him to look at you. His eyes were quite a bit darker than Nero's; twilight blue, rather than the pale ice that Nero boasted. More guarded, too, though they softened when you met them. You let your thumb graze the faint silver scar on his cheekbone. "Darling, sweetie," you said, "honey bunches, _lux viak me_ —"

His hand closed around your wrist and pried it away from his cheek. "Careful, babe. Any more and I might think you actually like me."

Shit.

Hammers pounded against your head, and you waved your hand through the air, trying to dispel lights hovering in your vision. When had things deteriorated this far? you wondered briefly. How had you allowed the carefree comrades between two friends to become a dance where a wrong move meant crumbling everything you’d built in the last three decades?

"Shit, Dante," you said hoarsely. "How many years have we known each other?" You lifted a hand and started to count. "Temen-ni-gru. Vergil. Fortuna. And don’t even get me started on that entire fiasco with Hell, that was a fucking nightmare.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he muttered.

“ _Dante_ ,” you said. “Dante, no matter how many times you get impaled in the chest, or how much shit you drag me through—"

Even your intoxicated mind understood. This couldn’t go on for any longer, this cautious push-and-shove. You were _partners_ , not estranged childhood friends.

Something needed to be done.

You lurched forward. Dante jerked forward, ready to catch you in case you fell, and was completely caught off guard when you grabbed the collar of his shirt and jerked him forward, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. It was a wet, messy ordeal, and left Dante gasping for breath, his hand settling on your hips.

"It wasn't your fault," you murmured against his lips. You repeated it for emphasis, emotion making your voice crack. "It wasn't your fault.”

You pulled away. Dante looked utterly wrecked, lips swollen and cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling like the tapestry of the sky, and you swore you heard him mutter "Oh my God" under his breath. Behind you, Nero made a scandalized sound like a dying killer whale.

Maybe it _was_ love, you thought, given how fiercely your heart pounded as you pulled Dante in again, this time pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth. Your hand lingered as you brushed a strand of hair from his face, tracing the spider-web wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. His years of demon-slaying had finally caught up to him, it seemed.

Fuck them, you thought suddenly, ferociously. Fuck the demons, fuck whoever had made Dante age a century in the decade that you were gone. And fuck _Vergil_ , for impaling his brother in the chest, for winning the award for "worst brother in the world" for two decades in a row, and for leaving Dante when he needed him the most.

Once again, you pressed your forehead against Dante's, a growl building low in your throat, rumbling low in your belly.

"You're mine," you murmured against Dante's lips. "Got it?"

_No matter what._

A soft sigh left Dante's lips. He pressed his lips to your hair, then laced his fingers through yours, bringing it to his chest. His breath was warm and comforting as it washed over your collarbone. "I need to get you drunk more often."

You shoved yourself away. "You're lucky you're so pretty," you told him, a knot catching in your throat as you toppled backwards, arm falling to cover your face. Damn you for even thinking that he'd take you seriously. Damn you for believing that he'd feel the same way.

In that strange, guttural language, you declared, " _I'm tired._ " The lights stirred a pounding headache in your skull, and you squeezed your eyes shut, neon colors seared into your eyelids. "Take me home, Dante."

You heard Dante chuckle. Unexpectedly, his large hand fell on your forehead, brushing your hair back with uncharacteristic gentleness. You remembered him handling his amulet in the same fashion, cradling it in his hands as if it'd break with the slightest touch, and wondered if he saw you in the same way. Someone to be treasured.

Demons couldn't love, you thought, and shook the idea from your head.

"Your place or mine?" he asked. It'd been a while since he'd even asked.

“Yours," you said without any hesitation. You scowled. “Still haven't fixed mine since the last attack."

Bunch of assholes. Cowered the moment they recognized you and didn't even bother to clean up after themselves before they fled.

His arms slipped under your knees and back, and his guns clinked against each other as he stood up, cradling you to his chest. He burned hotter than a furnace, hotter than any human had the right to be.

You curled against that warmth and allowed yourself to relax in that familiar heat. Now this was how things were supposed to be, you thought, eyes falling close in contentment. His hands curled under your legs and back, his machine-oil scent filling your senses.

"Alright, kid. Let's leave."

You grumbled. "I'm older than you."

"I was talking to Nero."

You pried open your eyes, squinting at Nero. Over Dante's shoulder, the younger demon hunter lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers, making you giggle as you waved back. As Dante navigated through the bar, making a beeline for the door, you allowed yourself to nod off. A whisper left your lips.

"What was that?"

You tried to shake your head and found that it was too heavy. "Nothing," you murmured as you drifted off to sleep. "Nothing at all."

\--

As you stumbled down the stairs, hand pressed to your forehead, Trish lifted her head from her magazine and shot you a sympathetic look. "Shit," you muttered, catching the pill bottle that she tossed at you and downing it in one gulp. The drugs seeped into your system faster than it would otherwise, and you wiped your lips, shooting a glare across the dimly lit shop. "What did I do last night?" you grumbled. "And why the fuck did I wake up in your bed, Dante?"

Dante spun his chair then propped his feet up on his desk with a dramatic thump of his boots. "You tell me," he called, reaching over to grab a slice of greasy pizza from the box.

Before Dante could take a bite, a spray of splinters leaped into the air. He jerked back, eyes flicking around before settling on the still smoking gun in your hand. "Hey!" he protested. "What was that for?"

You tucked your gun into the waistband of your pants and shot him a slight glare. “Don't play games with me."

"Pay for my furniture," he grumbled, though he didn't seem too upset. "You had one drink, that was all."

Trish whistled in sympathy. "Must've been fun."

You tossed a glare, though it was half-hearted at best. Despite your differences, you and Trish bonded well over your mutual dislike of some of Dante's worse habits (for example, his obsession with Italian flatbread covered in tomato sauce and toppings). "No, it was not fun. My head hurts, my mouth tastes awful, and why do I feel like I did something embarrassing?"

From his desk, Dante snickered. His hands flew up when you aimed your gun at him again. "Wasn't me."

You cursed under your breath and let yourself fall against the wall, willing your memories to return faster. Brief images, like flashes of a grainy black-and-white camera, flickered through your mind. After the last job, distracted by a strangely familiar presence near the van, you'd accepted Nero's offer to go drinking, knowing full well that your alcohol tolerance was worse than a toddler's. The waitress—a pretty girl who smiled at Dante before she left—handed you a glass of amber liquid. Distracted, you'd drank it, and then...

Shit.

You stared at Dante, feeling your cheeks warm. No. You couldn't have. You didn't... Did you?

Noticing your stare, Dante cocked his head, grinning. "See something you like, babe?" he asked, and laughed when another warning shot grazed his cheek, embedding itself in the wall behind him. Flushed, you glared at him, finger twitching on the trigger.

"Fuck off! You can go to Hell!" you shouted as you whirled around and stomped back up the stairs.

"Is that a date?" Dante called after you and ducked as a knife whirled above his head.

"Fuck off!"


End file.
